


Zeroing In

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Zerophilia (2006)
Genre: Blindfolds, F/F, F/M, Genderbending, Genderfuck, Genderswap, M/M, Restraints, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry goes out for a night on the town, determined to finally lose his virginity, and wakes up in bed with a lovely woman and breasts of his own. Shocked to discover that he has the extremely rare disease of Zerophilia, which makes him change gender when he orgasms, he is even more shocked to find out who else shares this disease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These characters were created and are owned by JK Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, I just like to write them and play with them. Likewise with Zerophilia: the idea was too cool not to write about, but I gain nothing by it!

The first thing Harry noticed was that the girl in bed next to him was soft and warm, curled around him from behind, her breasts pressed against his back.

The second thing he noticed was that he had a headache beating behind his eyes, thick and uncomfortable, his mouth dry as a bone.

The third was that he had no idea what her name was.

Harry stumbled out of bed, leaving the sheets behind, searching for his trousers. They had to be around somewhere, and he thought he had some painkiller in the pockets, for just such a morning. Unless he took it last night and couldn’t remember it, and it just wasn’t helping. His legs didn’t seem to work, and his vision was foggy, thanks to not having any idea where his glasses were, which made it difficult. But he finally came up with the small paper packet.

Water. Now he needed water.

“There’s a potion in the bathroom cabinet,” the girl on the bed offered.

Harry turned to face her, knocking himself off-balance, wobbling on uncertain feet. “You’re magical?” he blurted. It had been a Muggle club. “You were supposed to be Muggle.”

“Hardly.” Her voice was soft and dry as she sat up, unashamed in her nudity. And it wasn’t anything to _be_ ashamed of, Harry decided. She was small and slender, almost elfin in her appearance, with pale skin and delicate features, pale hair long and tumbling around her shoulders. He could remember that, even if those features were fogged by blurred vision at the moment. “Everything about last night was magical, other than where we met.”

“Then you know who I am.” Harry reached up to push at his fringe, an automatic motion that hid his scar.

Something was wrong, he noted. Something odd with his hair. Was it longer?

“Everyone knows the great and wonderful Boy Who Lived, so yes, I knew who you were,” she admitted.

“Damnit, —” he hesitated, not knowing her name.

“Dana,” she supplied with a small smile.

“Damnit, Dana!” he swore, but it didn’t have the same effect as just blurting it out would have. That pause, that damned pause. And feeling off-kilter, and like his head was going to explode.

She slid from the bed, caressing his shoulder lightly as she came close to him. “I’ll go get that potion for you. You climb on back into bed and we’ll see what we can do about that headache.”  Her hand drifted down his arm, then slid forward, cradling the curve of his breast.

Breast?

 _Breast???_

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” he blurted out, finally looking down while Dana kept going, walking past him.  His hands followed the path of his sight to confirm what the fuzzy images showed him. His body was smaller, his hair longer and falling across his shoulders, and he had curves where curves didn’t belong. And certain things which had gotten a good workout last night were bloody well _missing_.

Dana’s laugh floated back from the bathroom. “Don’t worry, Harry, we’ll fix that as well. First time last night?”

He flushed to the roots of his hair. How did she know? “Was I that bad?”

She came back, potion in one hand, glass of water in the other, and handed him both. “No, Harry, you weren’t that bad. Quite the opposite, actually. And this? Just a temporary side effect.”

Dana stood behind him as he drank first the potion then the water.  Her hands circled around him, curving over his breasts, teasing his nipples, one sliding down over his flat belly to tease at the soft curls. She let one finger dip into his folds and he moaned at the strange feel of it. “God, Dana.”

“No, not your God,” she laughed, her breath a whisper against his neck just before she nipped at his skin. “Just magic. Now let’s put you back to rights, shall we?”

 

#

 

If it hadn’t been for the blindfold, Draco knew the evening would have gone entirely differently. He’d known it was a risk when he took it, but he hadn’t counted on Harry being so bloody gallant and determined to make sure his bedmate orgasmed. Multiple times. Bloody hell, he had whiplash from his body switching back and forth between male and female so many times in one night.

But the most fascinating thing of all had been when Harry had finally orgasmed, leaving Draco with an armful of warm, soft, womanly curves, even as Draco’s own body had slipped back from female to male. And as Harry dozed, Draco had snuck away and forced himself to orgasm once more, so Harry could wake in Dana’s arms.

It was a windfall of unexpected proportions, shocking, but true. Draco knew that the number of Zerophiliacs amongst the magical community were slim. The condition was very rare, and only stable in the presence of another Zerophiliac. Discovering his own ability had been traumatic for Draco, but during the war it hadn’t mattered that his gender changed when he was aroused, or orgasmed, since he rarely had sex with anyone but his own right hand.

But once the war was done, he had discovered that if he got himself off once, and let his body slip into the female form, he could go out and no one would recognize him. It let him become close to others, and let him explore his sexuality with a partner. As long as he remembered to blindfold them first, or obliviate them later.

But this—sex with Harry had changed everything. Draco had studied everything there was about the lore of Zerophilia and the most important piece of information he had learned was that the only way to gain control over one’s gender was to have sex with another Zerophiliac. Which Draco had unwittingly done.

In a way, it was a good thing. After all, Draco’s body would no longer change at random moments, making casual sex or even relationships far less dangerous. However, it placed him into a static mold he was unaccustomed to after all these years, because now the only way to change his gender was to have sex with another Zerophiliac.

Such as Harry.

Draco had a feeling life was about to become fairly complicated, which was a pity, since this had been supposed to be a one night stand, fostered entirely out of curiosity. Harry was never supposed to know that Dana was actually Draco. Apparently simplicity was overrated.

He nudged Harry back towards the bed, inching them forward as his hands roamed over Harry’s body. Draco liked the way Harry looked as a girl, taller than Dana, but still just below average, which didn’t surprise Draco at all. Harry had hips and gentle curves, certainly more than Dana’s spare shape. More woman, less fey.  Draco let both hands come up, cupping Harry’s breasts, thumb and forefinger teasing at the nipples until Harry moaned. “Dana…”

“Feels good, doesn’t it. Why don’t you just lie down on the bed.” Draco nudged Harry, turning her and pushing her back. As Harry sat, Draco sank to his knees, hands pressing Harry’s knees wide. “Just relax,” he murmured, kissing a path up the inside of Harry’s thigh. “Time for another first.”

It occurred to Draco that there were any number of firsts Harry could still have, but some of them would require spilling more of the secret than he was willing to give right now. He had no desire to know what Harry would do if he realized exactly who had been in his bed last night.

“What—” Harry’s words choked off in a startled gasp as Draco’s tongue slid between her folds. “Oh God, don’t— don’t stop. Just.  How?”

A long slow sweep between her folds, tasting her warm tangy juices, licking from base up to the little hidden cleft of her clit. Draco knew how different it was to feel arousal between the male and female bodies. He teased at the tender nub, stroking it, circling it until it engorged, peeking out from under its hood so Draco could flick at it with his tongue. He grinned when Harry’s hips arched up off the bed, and her gasp turned into a shriek.

“Zerophilia,” Draco murmured, breath washing warm against Harry’s skin. “An extremely rare magical condition. Perhaps one in a million have it, and you are lucky enough to be one of those few. That’s how I knew it was your first time last night.”

“H— how?” Harry sounded as if she struggled for words, one hand coming down to tangle in Draco’s long hair, wrapping it around her fist and clinging as her hips thrust against his tongue.

“When you have sex, you change gender,” Draco whispered, letting the words hiss softly. “Sometimes. There are certain times when it will happen, and when it won’t. We can go over those in detail later. When you’re ready. Right now,” his tongue slid inside of her, stroking her as she whimpered. “Right now, let’s work to change you back.”

Harry had no response for that other than incoherent whimpers, her hips begging for something more. Draco obliged, sliding first one finger inside her tight opening, then adding a very careful second finger. She cried out, thrusting against him, and he began to tease her clit again, waiting for that moment when she stiffened, and began to shudder, crying out in a long whimpering moan as the orgasm shook her.

Draco knew from experience when the change came. He rode through that orgasm, almost painfully aroused and worried that he might change himself. He only had a moment after it was done to withdraw, sitting back on his haunches and watch as Harry’s body shimmered and became male once more. “Pity,” he sighed. “I rather liked you as a girl.”

Harry’s eyes were still closed, body limp on the bed as Draco crawled up to lie next to him. He was surprised when Harry’s arm curled around his slight body, pulling him in until Draco’s breasts pressed against Harry’s chest, his leg thrown over Harry’s and his moist heat pressed against Harry’s hip. He groaned.

“You go both ways then?” Harry murmured.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Draco replied with a soft, dry laugh.

“I ought to get you off,” Harry said after a long moment of silence.

Draco shook his head. “You don’t need to.”

Then Harry didn’t say anything else, because he was asleep.

Draco waited until he was sure Harry wasn’t going to wake again right away before slipping out from under his arm. He found his skirt from the night before, and the blouse he’d been wearing sans bra (why bother with one of those annoying things when what he had was barely a handful and perky on its own, he figured). His knickers were apparently gone, so he dressed without, slipping his feet into the sandals that matched the necklace he’d left lying on the nightstand.

Before he left, he wrote a quick note: _The truth is, Harry, it won’t happen again unless you sleep with me. D._  

He set it on the nightstand next to another dose of the potion, a glass of water, and Harry’s glasses. He’d pay for the hotel room on his way out, and make sure Harry was undisturbed for the rest of the day.

He thought, for a moment, about switching himself back. He was aroused right now, and Harry was here, and it would still count as sex with Harry if he laid back down and orgasmed while in the blush of this arousal.

But if he was male, there was no way he’d get to do this again.

And if he wasn’t having sex with Harry, he was stuck as whichever gender he was at the moment.

He needed time to think about how he wanted to handle this. And he needed to leave his options open. Best to remain Dana for a time.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was sprawled on the couch reading when Hermione walked in the door.

As much as he loved both his flatmates, it had been brill having the flat to himself for the few days over the long weekend. Ron had been off with his family, and Harry had begged off that trip, not wanting to have another run-in (and subsequent fight) with Ginny. And Hermione’d been to Bulgaria to visit Viktor. She was still claiming he was just a friend, but from the glowing smile as she dropped her bags just inside the door, Harry suspected he was a good deal more.

He didn’t need to know for sure. Harry sometimes wondered if he and Hermione might’ve had a thing, if it hadn’t been for this war getting in the way, but the war _had_ been there and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. When they were eighteen, and the war was done, everything had seemed simple: Hermione was with Ron, and Harry was with Ginny. Then the reality of the aftermath had set in, and in the last two years, everything had unraveled. Ginny and Harry had broken up only a few months ago in the midst of a colossal row and barely spoke to each other any more, and the trio had decided that they were best off as friends and flatmates, offering each other support when needed, and otherwise remaining romantically unentangled.

“Harry, not even a hug?” Hermione walked over and nudged herself a seat next to his hip, leaning over to put her arms around him and kiss his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so engrossed in a book, not even when we made up our NEWTs that summer. What is it?”

Harry obediently tilted the book so she could see the title; it had come from her room after all. And it wasn’t entirely helping, not as much as he’d hoped.

“A Guide to the Rare Diseases of the Magical World?” Hermione nudged the book down so she could see Harry’s face. “Why is it that you’re reading one of my texts? I can’t think you’ve suddenly decided to change career paths and become a healer.”

Harry flushed, and went to close the book, but her finger in it stopped him as she took the book from his hands. 

“Zerophilia,” she mused as she looked at the page. “What’s brought this interest about?”

How was he supposed to say this? It was embarrassing as all hell to admit that he’d woken up as  a girl that morning. Or worse yet, to say that he hadn’t minded when Dana had gone down on him to change him back. “I might have it,” he admitted with a whisper.

“Harry, that’s impossible,” Hermione chided. “This disease is so rare that there are maybe one or two people in the entire wizarding world with it at any time. There isn’t even terribly much in the book about it, as no one expects us to ever run into it. And you would’ve likely known far before now, wouldn’t you?”

“Likely not,” Harry admitted. “Last night was my first time having sex. And when I woke up this morning, I was a girl.”

Hermione blinked at him, for once silent.

His flush intensified. “What do you expect me to’ve done, ‘Mione? It was never you, and it was never Ginny. And everyone else in the Wizarding world just sees the scar and the hero. That’s why I went out to a Muggle club last night. I wanted to get it over with, and just… be with someone who had no idea who I was. And I thought she was perfect. Small and cute, and she was all over me, and I knew she couldn’t have any idea that I was this hero.” He wasn’t like Ron, after all. He didn’t want to use his hero status to see how many girls he could get. He just wanted to be liked for himself, at least once.

“But she wasn’t a Muggle,” Harry had to admit. “She knew what had happened. And she knew how to put me back to rights. She left me a note after, while I was sleeping, and she said it’s only going to happen when I’m with her.”

“That’s rot, Harry,” Hermione told him, patting his shoulder. “If you’re Zerophiliac, you’ll change gender every time you have sex, no matter who it’s with. That’s what it means.”

“That’s a lovely thought,” Harry muttered, frustrated. “So what you’re saying is: I can never have sex again.”

“It’s not so bad to be a girl,” Hermione glared at him.

“For you!” he protested. “I’m a bloke, ‘Mione. Born and raised. I’m not meant to have tits!”

“What was that about tits?” Ron’s voice came into the flat before he did, the door slamming against the wall as he pushed it open. “Oi! ‘Mione! You’ve gone and left your things in the way.”

Harry threw a pleading glance at Hermione, relaxing at least a little when she nodded. She nudged him, so he sat up, moving over so Hermione could budge up against him and leave space on her other side for Ron.

“Harry finally lost his virginity last night,” Hermione offered, smiling at Harry’s fresh flush. “He’s a bit embarrassed by it all.”

“‘ _Mione_ ,” Harry hissed, but she just kept smiling. “It’s not so big a deal as that.”

“If you were impressed by her tits it was big enough.” Ron sank down onto the couch, yelping when Hermione smacked him. “What? You two were already talking about it when I came in, and you’re the one that volunteered the information.”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s proper for the two of you to talk about the size of a girl’s tits in front of me, Ronald,” Hermione chided him. “Just for that, you can wait to hear about my holidays.” She pushed off the couch, taking her book with her. “I’ll just go unpack my things.”

Both Harry and Ron watched her go, and Harry realized that even after all this time, Ron’s gaze still lingered on the way Hermione walked, carrying her luggage down the hall.

“You could offer to carry it down to her room for her,” Harry pointed out.

“And get stuck helping her unpack? I don’t think so. Besides,” Ron grinned at Harry. “I want to hear all about this. Since I know bloody well it wasn’t my sister you were shagging, give me the details.”

Harry didn’t want to give Ron the details. For all that he loved his best mate, he knew that Ron’s mind was closed to a lot of things, from the idea of Harry shagging his sister, to the idea that Neville had started up a thing with Seamus last summer and the two blokes had been living together for six months now. He was fairly certain that Harry turning into a girl would be one of those things Ron’s mind just couldn’t quite handle. “There really isn’t much to tell. I went to a Muggle club, I got a bit pissed, and I went off with this little blond girl I met.”

“Tits?” Ron asked.

Harry flushed, remembering not just the feel of Dana’s small ones under his palms, almost half nipple when she was aroused, but also the feeling of her fingertips grazing over his own breasts. “Tiny ones, actually. Small enough she didn’t need a bra, but she seemed to like well enough when I went after them.”

Ron’s grin widened. “Good on you, mate, good on you. I was beginning to worry you’d turned down Gin because you were going to turn up bent like Neville. I’m glad to know that’s not true.”

Harry thwacked Ron’s shoulder hard. “You’d only worry about that because you’d think I’d be after your arse,” he teased.

“Oi, it’s a fine arse. Just not one ever meant for buggering.” Ron shook his head. “You don’t even want to know what my mum was on about this weekend.”

“Yeah?” Actually, Harry did want to know. Molly Weasley was like a mum to him as well, and he’d missed that part of the Weasley family gathering. He still wasn’t sure if Molly was upset with him after the row with Ginny.

“Yeah.” Ron’s voice lowered. “She took me aside all serious-like and she asked if the three of us were a thing.” He waved his hand vaguely to indicate the flat.

Harry’s eyebrows went up. “You, me, and ‘Mione?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. She told me that if we were, it was alright, and she’d still love me, and she’d understand. But she wanted to know the truth. I told her I wasn’t any kind of a buggering fool, and that ‘Mione was likely to be getting it from Krum this weekend, and that you had been right anti-social since you broke up with Gin. I don’t think she’ll be asking that again.”

“The three of us have lived in each other’s pockets since we were eleven,” Harry reminded him. “And in the course of those nine years, we’ve all been shite at relationships. I guess I can see where she gets the idea from.”

Ron shook his head. “I’d like to think she knows me better than that. Next time I go home, I’m bringing a date. Or two.”

Harry didn’t have any doubts that Ron’d do just that. He’d seen the girls Ron liked, and he was fairly certain that they’d convince Molly that her son had no interest in anything but the female sex. Still. He was done talking about all these convolutions, and he needed to get that book back from Hermione.  “Since you aren’t going to offer, I’m going to go see if ‘Mione needs any help.”

Ron stretched out on the couch as soon as Harry stood, his head pillowed on his arms. “You go on and be the white knight. I’m in for a nap, I think.”

When Harry knocked on Hermione’s door, it opened just a crack, then all the way as she waved him in and shut it behind him. She had her wand out and cast a quick privacy spell before she set it down again.

“I’ll see what I can find about Zerophilia,” she offered. “And you ought to see if you can find your girl again.”

“Dana.”

“Right, Dana. And you ought to get used to how you change,” Hermione said. “That’s one thing they did tell us, that if anyone ever does get to treat a Zerophiliac, the first thing to tell them is they ought to practice changing by themselves first, often, so they can gain some control over it.”

Harry frowned. “If that’s true, then why haven’t I changed before? When I’ve…” he failed on the word, and substituted the hand motion instead.

Hermione’s tone was prim and proper, even though her ears were pink, as she went into trainee-healer mode. “Masturbation is an important part of therapy for any Zerophiliac. But while some discover their affliction before they ever have sex, most don’t come into the full disease until they have their first orgasm with another participant. After that, however, any arousal might trigger the change, so it is important to masturbate often in order to gain some control over the changes.”

Harry was certain his face was as red as Hermione’s as he nodded. “So. As a healer, you um, you recommend…”

Her tone was clipped as she said. “Go to your room and wank, Harry. It may take time before you change again, but you will.” Her expression softened as she added, “and any time you want to talk, you know I’m here, right? Both as your friend and as a healer.”

Harry opened his arms, gathering her in and kissing her cheek. “Thanks, ‘Mione. I know. And this— let’s keep it between us. I don’t think Ron’ll understand.”

“There are a _lot_ of things Ron doesn’t understand.”

Harry had to smile at that, because yes, there were. He turned to leave, pausing at the door to turn back and smile at Hermione. “Oh and, I’m glad you had a good weekend with Victor. I’m sure it was brill.”

Her ears were bright pink when she nodded, and he left, pleased that Hermione was happy.


	3. Chapter 3

“So you’re stuck like this.” Pansy’s lips pursed into a moue of displeasure.

Stuck was the correct word. With the perspective of a few days, Draco could admit that his decision to remain female might have been a small mistake. After all, Draco had places he was supposed to put in an appearance in order to stay in the good graces of the Ministry that had pardoned him after the war. Not to mention his apprenticeship in the legal offices, which was borne on the sufferance of his perfect behaviour. But Dana could do none of these things, and without Harry, Draco could not have his usual male form back.

“Exactly,” he said dryly.

Pansy looked him over from toe to head as her hand drifted down to lightly rest on her belly, which was rounded in pregnancy. “Well, take care of yourself, at least, and don’t get knocked up. It’s terrible. You’ll crave disgusting foods, be horny all the time, and your ankles will swell.”

Draco smirked. “I hardly think Blaise complains about that second one.”

Pansy’s pointed chin tilted up, but she smirked as well. “No, he likes that part well enough, and the part where none of my bras fit anymore as well. I think it all turns him on.”

And this was why Draco had always been so close to Pansy. They’d been friends since they were born, and there were no barriers between them. He preferred the relationship they had now, with all expectations between them gone. While he loved her, and always had, he had never wanted her, not like that. Now there were no secrets between them, and when he had discovered his strange condition, she had been the one he had told. Which meant that now that he was stuck as Dana, she was the only friend he had.

“The question remains, what exactly do I do about the situation?”

“I should think that would be obvious, darling,” Pansy pointed one pink-tinted nail at him. “Shag him again and walk out once you’re a bloke and leave him a girl. It’s the perfect revenge for the lifetime of idiocies he’s perpetrated upon you.” She pursed her lips again. “In fact, I can’t think why you didn’t do that the first time ‘round, since you shagged him in the first place.”

“It didn’t occur to me.” Or rather, it had, but he’d set aside the idea in favor of waking up and having the fun of educating Harry as to what, exactly, he was. “It was only supposed to be a lark, Pans, but it was actually a pretty brill shag. Never met a bloke who was so interested in making sure a girl got off, before.”

“All good blokes do,” Pansy pointed out. “Just because it wasn’t what _you_ did, doesn’t mean there aren’t others who think of the girl first. But you haven’t told me. Why _Potter_? Out of everyone you could possible had a one-off with, why did you pick him?”

“He was there.” Draco remembered spotting him with some surprise, unsure at first that it was actually him in the dim light of the club. But once they were dancing, the lightning bolt scar had become obvious, and Draco knew who he had there. And it wasn’t difficult to tell Harry was attracted to him. There was something heady about knowing that Draco knew exactly who they both were, and Harry hadn’t a clue. Something he could hold over him someday, that Draco had shagged Harry Potter. That Draco had Harry at his mercy, blindfolded and hard in his bed.

Except the tables had turned and Harry had turned out to be a bloody well generous, enthusiastic, and brilliant shag.

Pansy leaned forward, one fingertip touching the side of Draco’s face. “You want him again,” she murmured. “You actually want to do it again.”

Draco didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t lie to Pansy. “Yes,” he said stiffly, although his female voice sounded more wistful than angry about it.

“Well, then, don’t forget your contraceptive spells.” Pansy patted him on the arm, then pushed herself to standing. “Pregnancy really is a horrid thing. I keep hoping it’s twins, so that I shan’t have to do it again for a good long while. Two ought to keep him happy, won’t it?”

Draco followed her to the door, hugging her and feeling awkward about it as in this body he was actually an inch shorter than his petite friend. “I’m quite certain Blaise will be so utterly besotted with whatever child you produce that he won’t even think about another one for quite a while. And I do expect you to exploit it for every moment of spoiling he owes you.”

Pansy smirked. “Of course, you wouldn’t expect anything less of me. Now, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but owl Potter. Meet him. Shag his brains out and put yourself back to rights, and then stop being an idiot over this. Once you’re back to male, you can shag anything you want and won’t change again, correct?”

Except Harry, Draco thought. “Yes. Unless I have sex with another Zerophiliac, I’ll stay as I am.”

Pansy cupped his face, looking down at him quite seriously. “Then let Potter save you. You have a proud name to spawn children for, and you deserve to have a normal life. If he is the one who can give it to you, then take it. I don’t care what the cost is to him.”

But Draco did, which surprised and irritated him.

He sat down at the writing desk once Pansy was gone, and pulled out a piece of parchment. It took three tries to write the note, simple as it was in the end.

 _Harry, I should like to see you again. Same hotel. Same room. You’ll be able to collect your key from the front desk; I shall reserve it under your name. D._

Before he could reconsider it, Draco sealed the parchment with a plain blot of wax and gave it to his owl to carry.

 

#

 

Harry looked down at the parchment in his hand. He couldn’t decide if it really needed a reply, but he hadn’t sent the owl off yet, either, letting it peck away at some owl treats on the table.

“What’s that you’ve got?” Hermione asked as she walked into the kitchen.

He couldn’t see a point in not telling her, so he held it out and let her see for herself.

With a sigh, Hermione sank down into the seat opposite him at the kitchen table. “Have you been doing your therapy?” she asked, cheeks flushed. “And have you got everything under control?”

“If I do it anymore it’s going to hurt,” he muttered. “And no, I haven’t changed again.”

Despite her embarrassment, Harry couldn’t help but think that Hermione looked intrigued as she leaned forward. “That’s impossible,” she said. “Once a Zerophiliac has changed the first time, their body is primed to continue changing. Sometimes just being aroused will do it. If you’ve had repeated orgasms and haven’t changed, then we have to conclude you aren’t actually a Zerophiliac, no matter what Dana said.”

“Or she wasn’t lying when she said it would only happen with her,” Harry pointed out.

“Or perhaps because you’ve come into it so late — most Zerophiliacs discover this much younger,” Hermione admitted, and Harry blushed at the reminder that having been a 20 year old virgin wasn’t _normal_. “Perhaps you ought to try having sex with someone else, just to see.”

He looked at her, mouth slightly open. “You aren’t suggesting…”

Her cheeks flamed a bright red. “No, no, I wasn’t. Although we could, purely as a scientific research methodology, to see if you do change. Not intercourse, of course, but I’d be willing—”

“No, really, that’s all right.” Harry interrupted her before things could become complicated. “Hermione, it’s really all right. I’ll just— I’ll meet up with Dana and we’ll see what happens. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse, right?”

Hermione stared at the parchment. “Harry?”

“Hm?” He turned it over, looking at the plain blob of black wax. “What is it, ‘Mione?”

“Dana’s not a Muggle.”

Well, yes, he’d said that, hadn’t he? How else would she know about Zerophilia. Harry sighed. “I met her in a Muggle club, but she’s wizarding. Fed me hangover potions and everything.”

“And you don’t know her,” Hermione said slowly.

Harry shook his head. “Not a bit. She’s about our age, I’d say, although I could be off since she’s got that sort of fey look.”

“And she’s _British_.”

Harry wasn’t sure where she was going with this. “Yeah, she’s British. Proper, I’d say, by her language.”

Hermione’s smile was weak. “Think about it, Harry. If she’s British, and our age, we ought to know her. Which means there’s something going on, isn’t there?”

“I’ll be careful, ‘Mione,” Harry promised. “It’s not like I’m going to marry the girl. But she knows more about this than I do, and at least if we end up in bed again, it’s not going to be some surprise when I’ve suddenly sprouted tits.”

Hermione looked doubtful. “Be _careful_ , Harry. It might be that you’re not Zerophiliac at all, that she’s gone and done something to you to make you believe you are. And I can’t think why she’d do that, but I just don’t trust her one bit.”

“I do,” Harry said, and that simply he realized that in his gut, oddly enough, he did. He didn’t think she’d lied to him at all, although he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d left something out. But then again, he hadn’t been exactly up front when the night had begun either, so how could he blame her?

“It’s just a date,” he added then, folding the parchment neatly and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. “You know how to reach me if you need to.” His grin was lopsided, and he realized that the thought of seeing Dana again had him already warm and wondering what was ahead for the night. “Don’t wait up.”

Hermione looked up at him, sighing softly. “Oh, Harry. Just _do_ be careful.”


	4. Chapter 4

She met him at the door, a blindfold dangled over her fingertips in offering.

Harry blinked. He’d been thinking he might be getting some tonight, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite this blunt. “Am I only here for the sex, then?” he asked, bemused, as he took the blindfold. “I’d rather thought we could talk first. Or eat. I didn’t get dinner before I left the flat.”

When she laughed, Harry realized he hadn’t heard it before, and it was surprisingly soft and warm, lower than her speaking voice. “I’ve brought up room service,” she said. “I just thought you’d like to know ahead of time where we were going to end up.”

Harry couldn’t help the flush. “I’d already assumed. But I’d rather start with something else.”

Dana tilted her head to look at him. She stood by the table where two covered dishes sat, her hand atop one of the covers, motion halted as her brow furrowed. “Did you have something particular in mind?”

“Conversation,” Harry suggested. He shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up neatly in the closet rather than just tossing it on the floor this time, then he toed out of his trainers before settling in on the sofa. “This is a Muggle hotel room, so maybe a film on the telly, if you’d like.”

Her smile twisted into an amused smirk. “Harry Potter, are you asking me on a date?”

“If it were a proper date, we’d be leaving this room,” Harry pointed out. “Which we could do, if you’d rather,” he allowed. “But I’m getting the impression you’re all for staying in.”

“I bought you oysters.” Dana lifted the cover off one plate. “I’m not wasting that on taking you out.”

“I thought I’d be taking you out,” Harry pointed out.

Dana picked up one of the oysters and carried it to him. She straddled his legs, settling in comfortably against him, one hand holding his shoulder for balance while the other raised the oyster to his lips and tilted it to let him suck it in and swallow. He brought his hands up to rest against her bum, tugging her closer yet, unable to resist the hunger to feel her pressed against him.

He managed to worm one hand under the edge of her blouse, fingers pressed against her belly, when she laughed and grabbed his hands in a surprisingly strong grip. She pressed them both back against the sofa, and his blood rushed as he felt how trapped he was here beneath her.

“You are operating under the illusion that you are in control here,” Dana murmured, just barely brushing a kiss against his lips.

He caught the scent of her, something spicy in her hair, and he remembered it from the other night. Just that memory sent a flood of warmth to his groin and started a tickle under his skin that felt familiar even though he couldn’t remember feeling it since then.

The change. That sensation, that build… that’s what had been missing while he’d wanked so bloody often he felt raw and like he’d never get hard again. But here he was and all it took was the scent of her hair and he felt the need growing. He swallowed hard. “Alright, you take me out instead of me taking you out. But not tonight.”

Dana nuzzled his throat, and he groaned, hips lifting to press against her. Eyes open he could see down her shirt, unbuttoned as it was, to her tiny breasts, almost entirely taut nipple right then. “Let go my hand,” he asked.

“Why?” Her breath was a whisper against his skin, tongue darting out as if to lick the words right off his lips.

His breath caught for a moment, let loose in a soft groan. “I want to touch your breasts,” he admitted. “Lick them.”

She chuckled softly. “What was that about talk and a film?”

“Bugger it,” Harry swore. Now that she was in his lap, his jeans were too bloody tight and he wanted to feel her skin under his hands, wanted to press up into her. He did just that with his hips, thrusting against her so she’d feel the hard ridge trapped there by denim.

But she didn’t pull back. Instead she whispered a word he didn’t know, and he felt the pull of magic in the room just before something wrapped around his wrists, binding him to the sofa. Eyes flew open as he realized he was helpless. Caught. At her mercy. Bloody hell, how could he have been so stupid? Hermione was going to kill him when he got home, if he wasn’t already dead thanks to Dana.

She pulled back, framing his face with her hands, forcing him to look in her eyes. Pale blue, so pale they were more like grey, and it reminded him of something for a moment. But that memory fled as she rocked against him, pressing against the ridge of his cock. Her fingers fluttered over the buttons of his shirt, opening it so she could touch his skin, teasing his nipples. “Do you trust me?” she asked. And a moment later she had her blouse open as well, one turgid nipple offered to his lips like a sweet treat.

He couldn’t resist, tongue flicking out to tease her, rewarded by her moan. And just like that, fear melted away to be replaced by arousal at the idea of being at her mercy. He caught that nipple in his teeth, sucking it in and tasting her sweat, groaning at the soft catch of her breath, at the taste of her rapid heartbeat.

When she asked again if he trusted her, he answered in the only way possible: “Yes.”

 

#

 

That one word coiled in Draco’s gut in a mix of pleasure and guilt. <I> _yes </I>_, Harry Potter trusted him. Trusted _her_. Things were complicated right now, but the fact that he had Harry at his mercy, bound to his couch and about to be given so much pleasure he might go blind from it, made Draco grin. He summoned the blindfold and quickly tied it around Harry’s head, leaning in and purposefully brushing his breasts against Harry’s lips, enticing another deep suckling pull that made Draco groan loudly.

“Tonight,” Draco murmured, “we are going to see exactly how many times we can make you orgasm in one night. And how close we can get you before you change. Tonight you will learn your body, and your limits, and when we are finally done, I will let you fuck me senseless, but not until then. Are we understood?”

“When do I get to have the blindfold off?” Harry asked.

Draco liked that hoarse note in Harry’s voice, the way it sounded like he was asking permission. He brushed his lips against Harry’s forehead, then leaned back and vanished their clothes, leaving Harry naked beneath him on the sofa. “Not tonight,” Draco murmured, kissing a trail across Harry’s chest as he slid backwards. “Just let yourself get lost in who you are. Just think about being and feeling, not seeing.”

And this way kept Draco safe, because he had no idea how he was going to keep control of his own changes. He already felt that tingling under his skin that meant he was going to shift, so he slid down to kneel between Harry’s legs, engulfing Harry’s prick in his mouth without warning.

He looked up, watching as Harry’s head fell back, wondering if Harry felt that burning the same way he did, and how much it would take to push him into the change. Eyes closing, Draco took Harry deep into his throat, almost choking when Harry shifted his hips, thrusting up at the same time. It took a moment to adjust, then Draco let Harry fuck his mouth, loving the way he lost control so easily.

“Fucking brilliant,” Draco murmured. He let Harry’s cock slip out, just for a moment so he could suck in first one bollock, then the other, rolling them around in his mouth and getting them good and wet. He nuzzled Harry’s cock, wondering if he could actually feel the vibration or if that was just his own body. He wanted to change himself, needed to change.

Draco let his fingers drift down, slipping to fingers between his own soft folds, circling his clit. He moaned as he took Harry’s cock back in his mouth, his other hand on Harry’s balls. It only took a few strokes of his finger and he started to shudder, holding back a cry as the change ripped through him and leaving him with his hand wrapped around a still-hard cock of his own.

This was why the blindfold, and why the binding. Draco couldn’t risk Harry’s gallantry exposing his secret.

And it only took another moment before Harry was coming as well, shooting bitter fluid into Draco’s mouth and making him swallow roughly until the soft cock slipped from his mouth, receding until Harry was left with entirely different bits.

It was tempting to stand up and press his own cock to Harry’s lips, and watch her take him in. But not yet. He couldn’t risk it yet, any more than he could risk sheathing himself between her slick folds.

It was going to be a long night, Draco knew, as his tongue darted over Harry’s clit. He smiled as her hips jerked, an involuntary moan escaping. A long night, but a good one, most definitely.


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Roberton,

 

My apologies at my absence from the office these last few days. I was injured over the weekend, and was unable to obtain a Quick Quotes Quill until now to transcribe my letter to you, otherwise I should have owled in sooner. The healers estimate that I should spend the rest of the week resting. I am on blood replenishing potions, and the arm is healing after having been crushed. I assure you, I shall not choose to experience rock climbing again in the near future, so you need have no fear that I shall be absent again in this manner once I am healed.

 

Yrs,

Draco Malfoy

 _transcribed via Quick Quotes Quill_

 

#

 

Harry,

 

Do you still enjoy Quidditch, now that you no longer play? I have two tickets to the Falcons game this weekend, if you might be interested, and would not have any difficulty being seen with me in public.

 

Dana

 

#

 

Dana,

 

Of course I like to watch Quidditch. I’d ask who doesn’t, but one of my flatmates — Hermione — doesn’t. I’d like to go, sure, and I can meet you there. I don’t want to tell anyone in my flat that I’m going or else Ron’d be likely to follow me. Which reminds me, if you ever do meet him, try not to listen to anything he says. He’s a good bloke, just a bit crude sometimes.

What else do you like to do, besides watching Quidditch and dancing at clubs? Have you ever played Quidditch?

 

Harry

 

#

 

Harry,

 

I used to be very good at Quidditch, but that was a long time ago. I don’t get to fly for fun terribly often anymore. I enjoy music, and the theatre, and I actually quite enjoy Muggle art museums. You may find this odd, but I’ve found I enjoy Muggle passtimes more than Wizarding ones of late. I’ve taken to attending football games, and I think I’ve come to understand the rules, at least somewhat. Enough to know when to cheer, and when to hold my tongue.

I have a particular passion for films. Horror especially.

And you? What do you do in your spare time?

 

Dana

 

#

 

Dana,

 

Then we ought to fly together. If you don’t have a broom, I could borrow Ron’s for you, or we could fly together on my broom. I’ve never tried to do that, but it should be possible, and I’m actually good on a broom. But you knew that. It’s not fair, you know, that you know everything about me, and I know nothing about you.

I’d rather be in the Muggle world myself, most of the time. I can’t be, completely. Someone would find me and drag me back, I’m sure. It’s part of being the Boy Who Lived, or the Boy Who Killed Voldemort (the name changes depending on the moment, I think). They think I owe something to the Wizarding world, that I’m supposed to keep on protecting it. Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t do enough already, since I gave up my entire childhood to save it. But they want me to do more. That’s why I’m an Auror, I think. Not because my Mum and Dad were, before they died, but because no one would let me do anything else.

Not that I know what I’d do if I weren’t an Auror, so I guess it’s not such a bad place to be, is it?

Why horror films in particular? Sometimes I think I’ve seen enough horrors and I don’t need to see anymore. They aren’t really very frightening anymore.

I don’t have spare time, not really. Usually if I’m not at work or at training or being asked to speak somewhere or other, I go out. Sometimes I go out with my mates, but sometimes I go out alone, like I was on Friday, when we met.

I’m glad we met.

 

Harry

 

#

 

Harry,

 

I have a broom, so yes, maybe we could fly together.

I don’t think I know everything about you. I could tell you everything about your life at school because so much of it was in the Prophet, wasn’t it? But I couldn’t tell you if you liked chocolate. Or if you preferred pumpkin juice or butterbeer. Or who your favorite Quidditch team is, or what your favorite colour is. I could tell you what colour your underwear (probably) is: white boxers, the two times we’ve met. But for all I know, you prefer pink frilly things when you’re not out in public, and you’re afraid to let anyone know.

What else do you want to know about me?

You could play Quidditch if you weren’t an Auror. I think any team would want to have the Boy Who Lived as their first string Seeker, wouldn’t they?

That’s it exactly on the horror films. I know they aren’t real, but the people in the film think it’s real as a part of the story. I’ve seen so much worse, and I find it fascinating how they have people react to the horrors in the story. I wonder what they would have done if they’d grown up in the wizarding world, instead.

I’m glad we met, too.

 

Dana

 

#

 

Dana,

 

Hey! I don’t own any pink frilly underwear, although I’ve found a pair once when I was doing the washing up and Hermione had decided to toss her things in with mine. Do you own pink frilly underwear? Do you own a bra? You haven’t worn one when we’ve I’ve seen you.

Oh and yes, I like chocolate, butterbeer’s better, I’m a Puddlemere fan (I have to be, Wood plays for them), and my favorite color is currently blue. It changes sometimes.

What do you do when you’re not picking up stray wizards in Muggle clubs?

Do you really think they’d want me as a Quidditch player, or would it all be because I’d be some kind of sensation and sell a lot of tickets? That’s the problem, you see. Everyone sees the scar, and no one sees me. I wish I could make the scar go away sometimes and be plain old Harry.

 

Harry

 

#

 

Harry,

 

I’m taking you shopping for underthings because you ought to own everything you need to have as a girl. Or maybe I’ll just bring you some presents. But no girl ought to go without frilly things. I don’t own pink underwear at all; I don’t like the colour on my skin. But I do own plenty of blue and green and even some red. And no, I don’t own a single bra. I think they are uncomfortable, and I don’t need one. You should own one, though. You have lovely breasts.

I’m a legal assistant, but I’m currently on vacation for the week, so if you have a day to skive off work, we could get together if you’d like.

Ah, yes, I can see what you’d mean. It’s difficult when one’s appearance is so striking it’s impossible to hide, or when one’s name is a household term.

 

Dana

 

#

 

Mr. Malfoy,

 

Perhaps you have forgotten, but the Siccorax case requires your attention in the office on Friday. Please make arrangements to be here at ten o’clock, sharp. If you are unable to attend, we will be discussing your employment when you return.

 

Sincerely,

Salvatore Roberton

 

#

 

Mr. Roberton,

 

I understand, and I will be there.

 

Yrs,

Draco Malfoy

 _transcribed by Quick Quotes Quill_

 

#

 

Harry,

 

Meet me Thursday night? Same hotel.

 

Dana

 

#

 

Dana,

 

I’ll be there.

 

Harry


	6. Chapter 6

When Draco had told Harry to meet him at the hotel, he hadn’t expected Harry to take him out on a date. But Harry had swept Draco out of the room, insisting on dinner and a film, wherein Draco had sat with his small feminine hand curled against Harry’s larger palm, Harry’s thumb lightly stroking against his skin. It was intimate and quiet and alien to Draco’s way of thinking.

And Draco felt every soft touch straight in his groin, leaving him wet and wanting, and more than ready to strip Harry when they got back to the room. He wasn’t sure which of them kicked the door shut, then Harry’s arms were around him, and Draco was lifted off his feet as Harry’s lips pressed to his. He wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, crying out softly as Harry pressed him against the wall, Draco’s breasts crushed between them, his crotch pressed against Harry’s erection. It wouldn’t take long, Draco knew, even just like this fully dressed. He shifted, rubbing himself, feeling the pressure on his clit and _oh fuck_ … he bit back a cry and buried his face against Harry’s neck as he shuddered and tried desperately not to change.

Not here. Not now. Not when it would ruin _everything_. 

“Bedroom,” Draco gasped. “Blindfold. Trust me?”

When Harry hesitated, Draco nipped at the soft skin of his throat, tongue tasting salt and something that was simply _Harry_. He caught that bit of skin and sucked it in, teasing it to redness and leaving his mark. Even when Harry changed, Draco knew, that mark would remain, and would remind Harry that he belonged to Dana. It was the best Draco could do, given the complications of the situation.

“Bedroom,” Draco repeated softly, and caught Harry’s earlobe for a gentle tug.

With a soft growl of frustration, Harry carried Draco back and dropped him on the bed. Draco scrambled to one side, picking up the blindfold and pointing to the center of the bed. Harry hesitated again, and this time Draco was far more blunt, palming Harry’s crotch and massaging it roughly. “I am going to let you fuck me so hard I’ll be screaming,” he murmured, his female voice soft and husky with want. “I’m going to wring you dry, Harry.”

Harry undid his fly and shoved his jeans down, the shirt coming off almost as quickly. As soon as he laid down, Draco wrapped the blindfold around his head and magically secured it, ensuring Harry couldn’t see a thing. He left his hands free this time, though, wanting to be able to enjoy Harry’s touch.

Draco stripped off the blouse and skirt, leaving on the scrap of underwear, thinking Harry might like the fun of tearing it off of him shortly. He sprawled half across Harry, kissing his neck, tasting sweat and some musky scent that was purely Harry’s alone. Hands stroked down Draco’s back, and he arched into the touch, almost purring because it just felt that good.

“Dana, I—”

Draco caught Harry’s mouth in a kiss, whispering, “Save it for later. Don’t say it.” Because he had a feeling he knew what Harry was about to blurt out. The overly emotional Gryffindor was almost transparent in his feelings, and Draco didn’t want to hear that from him. Didn’t want to think about what it would mean, or if it really meant anything at all when he knew so many things Harry didn’t know about the woman in his arms.

After all, if Harry were in love, it was with Dana. Which meant nothing.

Harry’s hand slipped between Draco’s legs, fingers stroking over his clit; fireworks exploded behind his eyes and he pushed back roughly as he clamped down on the change again, crying out in near desperation.

“I want you to come,” Harry growled softly.

And he could do that to him, so easily, Draco knew. Breath shuddering in his chest, he moved forward again, settling his hips over Harry’s hand. “Please,” he whispered, in Dana’s husky voice.

And Harry complied, the fingers of his hand stroking between Draco’s lips, sliding deep into him while Harry’s thumb rolled over his clit. And that was it, all it took for the fire to rise up and shatter Draco with a hoarse cry. He rode Harry’s fingers as long as he dared, then withdrew, knowing he couldn’t say a word, or let Harry touch him too much.

Handily, he knew a way to distract his lover.

After so many days as a woman, Draco’s body felt strange and heavy to him. A little too tall, limbs lanky instead of graceful. His cock, hard even after his orgasm, pressed into the bed as he laid down between Harry’s legs. He was close still, thankfully, since he needed his female body back… wanted it back with an urgency that surprised Draco completely. He’d had a _plan_. But of course, Harry — _gallant_ Harry — had knocked it off-kilter by wanting to get Dana off. And Draco hadn’t been able to resist.

Draco forced everything else from his mind, focusing on the scent of Harry and the raging hard prick right there in front of him. He started with slow licks from root to tip along the underside, tongue swirling around the head, teasing him. He echoed the motions with one hand, not letting any part of Harry’s prick go untouched as he sucked on him. And when he finally engulfed Harry, taking him deep into his mouth, touching the back of his throat, Draco’s hips moved, rutting against the bed. Small moans escaped, vibrating around Harry’s prick, little sounds of happiness and need, made all the louder by the feel of Harry’s hands tangling in his hair, and the urgent way Harry started to thrust.

Draco almost lost control of the whole thing when orgasm came again, his body changing, Harry’s prick deep in his throat at the same time. But he had just enough presence of mind to squeeze hard at the base of Harry’s prick, forcing him back from the edge, and at the same time clinging as the change rippled through Draco again and left him as Dana. “Not yet,” he whispered.

“Did you get off again?” Harry asked, the grip of his fingers easing in Draco’s hair, stroking along the length of it and down to his shoulders.

“Mm-hm, I most certainly did.” Draco figured Harry didn’t need to know about the change in gender, not yet. Maybe not ever. Instead he crawled up and slid his slit along Harry’s length, laughing huskily when Harry pressed up, trying to slip inside of the warm folds. “Anxious, aren’t you?”

“Very.” Harry gripped Draco’s slender hips and drove up, burying himself with a groan. “Fuck, Dana, I’m not going to last long.”

Draco bit his lip, shivering with pleasure. “Just until I come again,” he whispered, fingers trailing over Harry’s chest to tease his nipples. “Please. Hold back until then.”

Harry groaned again, head tilted back. “Don’t know if I can.”

Draco pressed a lip at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “You can. I’ve got faith.”

Draco lifted his hips, almost letting Harry slip out, then took him in again deeply, rocking to press his clit and send little sparks shooting through his body. Draco was close, far closer than he really should be but he was pretty sure the body changing had something to do with it. Right now he just had one goal: get Harry drenched enough. He only rocked back and forth for a few strokes before he slid off, again catching Harry’s prick at the base and pressing, waiting for Harry’s breathing to slow.

“I am going to get on my hands and knees,” Draco nibbled on Harry’s earlobe as he whispered. “You are going to make sure that you are absolutely sopping wet, and then you are going to fuck my bottom. What do you think of that?”

The irony was that even without the worry about changing gender mid-shag, Draco had very little care whether his partners were male or female, who was getting fucked, or exactly where it was happening. And buggering was just another pleasant way of doing it. Very pleasant, actually, in Draco’s opinion.

He didn’t wait for an answer, simply rolled off to one side and positioned himself, head down on his arms, bum in the air, slim hips waggling slightly as he waited. It only took a moment before Harry felt his way behind Draco, fingers spreading Draco’s slick juices over his bum.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his cock just barely pressing against the tight hole.

“Yes. Fuck me, Harry,” Draco ordered, only it came out as more of a pleading whimper. He pressed back, loving it when Harry didn’t resist or wait and simply started to thrust in. Harry’s hands found Draco’s breasts, teasing the nipples, twisting them which sent shocks of pleasure through Draco.

Neither of them was willing to stop, Draco pressing back as Harry pounded into him. There was a hand at Draco’s breast and another between his legs, teasing his already too-sensitive clitoris. He didn’t have time to think, or to dissemble in any way, the orgasm ripping through Draco like a shockwave. He clenched down on Harry’s cock, and felt Harry’s fingers tighten as Harry shouted and spilled inside of him.

Then the changes came.

Draco fell forward, thankful his body was flaccid and limp when he came into his male form. Mentally, emotionally, he felt wrung out by the intercourse, and he needed time to recharge before he could make the switch back.

Harry slid boneless to the mattress beside him, rolling close against Draco’s back, one arm looped across his waist, her breasts pressed against his back. “I can’t believe you let me do that,” she murmured, and Draco could only grunt, amused, in response. He knew Harry would recognize his voice.

But when Draco didn’t respond with anything else, Harry’s hands slid over his body, slowing in their motion, then making a quick grab for his crotch before he could get away. Small fingers closed firmly around his flaccid cock, tight enough to be uncomfortable but not so tight it was going to damage him.

“Dana…” Harry said slowly. “There’s something you haven’t told me.”

Draco carefully peeled Harry’s fingers free, slipping away and rolling off the bed and out of arm’s reach. He needed to leave and he needed to leave now before Harry figured out exactly who was in his bed. He needed to make his appointment and not lose his job and not lose the good faith of the Ministry. He needed a lot of things.

At the same time, he wanted to crawl back into bed and kiss Harry and tell him everything was all right, and not to worry, and those thoughts terrified Draco. Instead he leaned in close enough to brush a kiss against the blindfold, whispering the words to key the spell he’d used earlier.

Pitching his voice lower than natural, he risked speaking. “The blindfold will come off in thirty minutes.”

Then Draco stepped back, spun in place, and Disapparated.

#

Harry tugged at the blindfold the second Dana left, but nothing would persuade it to come off. After panicking for several minutes, he instead laid back and decided to wait. Thirty minutes, that wasn’t so long. And besides, this gave him a chance to try Hermione’s solution. After all, if Harry were a Zerophiliac, a little wank ought to put him back to rights.

But while his pussy was still slick from his orgasm, nothing teased his body to arousal. Not only was he not changing back to male, he was so scared about having been left this way that he couldn’t get to orgasm in the first place.

Bloody hell.

When the blindfold finally fell away, Harry stood up and took stock of the situation. There was a bag he hadn’t noticed earlier, left on a table, with a note attached.

 _Every girl needs proper knickers. — D._

Right then. Harry tugged out the black lacy knickers, and the bra, and it only took a bit of struggling to get everything on and in place properly. A quick glance in the mirror showed him a dark-haired girl who looked like just about any other girl in Britain, fit but not overly thin, hair falling across the scar on her forehead (he checked, it was still there). A little more searching found another gift bag, this time holding a t-shirt, hoodie, and trackies, and a pair of sandals.

Harry dressed quickly, feeling odd about how the fabric fell against his body. Walking took effort, as nothing quite worked the way he expected, and the swing of his hips set his balance off. But in the end, he was dressed properly, and he’d shoved all his things back into the bags Dana had left, and he stood ready to go.

But where to? He was a girl, he couldn’t very well go out and wandering. Or to work, or anywhere else, for that matter. As far as the Wizarding world was concerned, Harry Potter had just become a non-person.

That actually didn’t sound entirely bad, if it were under his control at all. But right now, Harry was starting to get worked up over the fact that he didn’t know how to fix it, and that had to be his first priority.

Which meant he had to go home, because Hermione would know what to do.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry knew that if he just appeared inside the flat, with his luck, someone would be there and he’d terrify them into blasting a hex his direction. So for that reason, even though he was fairly certain the wards would still recognize him as _Harry_ , he apparated to nearby and walked up and knocked on the door instead.

When Ron pulled the door open, Harry smiled. “Hullo, R—” He stumbled to a stop as he realized he had no idea what to say at all. This was complicated after all. “I— is Hermione about?”

Ron was grinning down at Harry, which made Harry realize just how much shorter he was in this form. The redhead pulled the door open, gesturing. “Yeah, sure, come on in. You a friend from St. Mungo’s? You know, you girls are welcome to do your studying over here any time. Got a strong stomach, won’t be disgusted if you start talking about wounds or lost limbs or any such rot.”

As Harry stepped through the door, Ron came too close behind him in order to close it, brushing against his back. Harry stepped away quickly, eyes wide. Was Ron trying to flirt with him? No. That had to be an accident. “I’m not— I mean, I’m not a trainee Healer. It’s just— we—” Harry struggled inwardly, then finally sighed. “Just tell her I’m a friend of Dana’s, all right? It’s her that sent me over.”

Ron’s grin only widened. “A friend of Dana’s, then? She’s dating my best mate, you know. We could double sometime if you’d like, go on out all together. Just ask Harry, I’m a good bloke.”

Right. Hermione must’ve given Ron some version of the truth, or else Ron had caught one of the owls from earlier in the week and made his own assumptions about Harry corresponding with Dana after the supposed one off on the weekend. With a soft groan, Harry rubbed reflexively at his forehead, a mannerism left over from the war, even when the scar didn’t hurt. Then he hurriedly brushed his fringe over it again, so Ron wouldn’t notice.

Ron was smiling in that boyish way, and Harry got the feeling that he wasn’t going to go tell Hermione anything until he answered. So Harry tried to put on a smile for him. “I’ll talk to Dana about it, but right now, I’m really not available.” Because he _was_ Ron’s best mate, but he was not at all ready to explain it. “Please, I really need to talk to Hermione. It’s important.”

“Ron, did I hear voices?”

Hermione came down the hallway, stopping as she got to the doorway, looking at Harry with a little frown. Her gaze drifted up and down his body, and he glanced down to make sure he’d actually remembered to put everything on properly. Yes, he was clothed, but Hermione seemed bothered by it somehow. Harry smiled weakly. “Dana sent me,” he said simply. “And Harry told me I could talk to you about anything.”

Hermione blinked and took a step closer to him. “Oh. Right then.” Her lips pressed together, and she considered Ron, who was standing off to one side making pleading hand motions that stopped as soon as Harry turned to look at him properly. “Ronald, could you go out and get us some ice cream? I think this is going to be a terribly long girls’ night in.”

It was all Harry could do to keep from laughing outright at that. Hermione had found the one way to send Ron into fits and to make sure he disappeared completely, but implying that they were about to have a good cry-in and talk about feelings.

“Ah. Yeah. I’ll do that.” Ron grabbed his jacket and swung it over his shoulders. “I’ll just be going then to get that. Don’t— don’t wait up. Yeah?”

And with that, he disappeared out the door, letting it slam behind him. Harry relaxed, falling onto the sofa, head in his hands, long hair making a dark curtain around his face.

“Bloody hell, ‘Mione,” he muttered. “I’m a _girl_.”

She sat down next to him, her hand covering his and squeezing gently. “I can see that, Harry. It _is_ Harry, isn’t it?” Once he’d nodded, she went on, “I’m guessing you weren’t able to change back on your own?”

“Something like that.” Harry didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t even been able to get off after Dana had changed into a bloke. Was it that Dana _was_ a bloke? He wasn’t sure about that part of it. Bloody hell. “Maybe wanking just doesn’t work for me. Maybe it takes a partner.”

“Oh.” Hermione rubbed his back lightly. “Um.” Her voice went quiet and prim. “Does that mean you’re coming to me as your therapist then?”

“I don’t want to arse up our friendship.” It wasn’t exactly a no, but it wasn’t entirely a yes. But Harry was desperate then, and wanted to do just about anything that might get him back to normal.

There was a long silence, and Harry started counting his heartbeats. Five. Ten. Twenty.

“It won’t break us, Harry.” Hermione spoke carefully. “I have some ideas on how I might be able to help you, but you’ll have to understand, it’s just to change you back.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “‘Mione, I know you’ve got a thing going on with Krum, and I don’t think about you that way. Not any more.” And not since Dana.

That was the worst of it. Dana’d left him as a girl, and she’d changed into a bloke and disappeared, and still he couldn’t stop thinking about her. But he couldn’t do this again. Once he got his own body back, that was it. He could never see her again and risk being left like this.

“All right then.” Hermione stood and offered Harry her hand. “Come with me. I think we’ve got plenty of time before Ron gets back, thankfully, otherwise you know he’d be trying to break down the door and watch.”

Harry winced. “Don’t even say that. I really don’t want to think about him staring at us.”

Hermione nudged him with her hip as they walked back to her room. “Not into voyeurism then, are you?”

A flush rose to his cheeks. “No, not a bit. And definitely not with Ron. How am I going to explain this to him? Or maybe I won’t explain,” Harry said decisively. “We’ll get me put back to rights, and I won’t see Dana again, and it won’t ever _happen_ again. Everything’ll be fine.”

Hermione paused on the threshold to her room, and just gave him a look. “Are you sure of that, Harry? All of it?”

“I’ve gone without sex before,” he reminded her. “Remember how long it took me to lose my bloody virginity in the first place?”

“I meant Dana,” she said quietly.

Oh. Harry decided not answering would be better than potentially lying, since he didn’t really know the answer to that bit. Instead, he motioned for her to go on in.

Hermione closed the door behind her, twisting both the lock on the handle, then adding a magical lock on top of that, and extra privacy charms atop both of those. “Sit down on the bed,” she said matter-of-factly, “and I think you ought to take off your clothes. I assume you like being touched in this body?”

“Er. Yes.” Harry sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, and toed off his sandals. He wasn’t sure if the part where Hermione was methodically stripping out of her skirt and blouse made him feel more comfortable or less.

She stopped when she stood there in her bra and knickers, hands on her hips, looking at him. “Undress, Harry, if we’re going to do this. It’s not as if you haven’t seen me half-dressed before.”

“We were on the run for our lives and it wasn’t quite so arousing then.”

Hermione’s smile gentled. “That’s the point. I rather thought that even though your body’s female, you’ve likely still got an appreciation for seeing a girl’s body, so I thought it might help us out. Would you like to close your eyes?”

She helped him undress then, her fingers skating over Harry’s breasts and belly, tasting his skin in such a teasing way even as careful as she was. Harry felt his nipples pebble, and watched as Hermione’s gaze was drawn to them. While she watched, he reached up and rubbed his fingers over his nipple, then gently pinched it, feeling the answering warmth between his legs.

Hermione’s tongue was caught between her teeth, her head cocked, expression quietly curious. “I think you ought to keep doing that while I touch you,” she decided. “That way I can focus on other things.” She blinked a moment, and her voice was terribly slow as she asked, “Did you want to touch me?”

There were breasts there, right in front of him, held away from his gaze by a soft blue satin with little bits of lace along the edges. Harry could see the way Hermione’s nipples had pebbled, and for a moment, his instincts kicked in and oh bloody hell yes, he wanted to touch those, taste them, anything she’d let him have of her.

Then he remembered: this was _Hermione_. He winced slightly. “Yes, but no. I don’t want to look at you over dinner some night and have you be thinking about how I was fondling your tits just the other day. This is going to be weird enough as it is.”

“Right then.” Hermione planted the heel of her hand in his chest and nudged him hard. “Lie back, and close your eyes, and think of— well, think of whatever you think you ought to be thinking of.”

What Harry tried to do was think of Dana. It worked, at first, imagining her pert little tits and the spare swell of her hips. As his own fingers twisted his nipple, he imagined her mouth there instead. But the illusion shattered as soon as he felt Hermione’s fingers slide between the lips of his pussy. He shouldn’t be able to tell the difference, but somehow, he knew it wasn’t Dana. They had a different touch and a different way of doing things. Hermione was no less arousing physically, but she attacked things in a different order, sweeping a bit of lubrication up over Harry’s clit, then circling it gently, teasing it until there was more and more dampness making things slick and easy.

Hermione moved so that she could slide two fingers inside of Harry, her other hand still lightly circling Harry’s clit. It was bloody well brilliant, and Harry’s fingers fisted in the bed. He didn’t care that Hermione hesitated sometimes, or that his mind was filled with the fey-like girl he’d bedded earlier. His body took over, and after moments, he felt his body explode with the orgasm.

And he waited.

And nothing happened.

“Hm.” Hermione stood there, wiping her fingers on the sheets, lips pursed as she stared down at Harry. “I read something after you started me on this research, but it’s an unproven bit of information, so I can’t say whether it’s true or not.”

Harry blinked disappointedly at his all-too-female body. “What was that?”

Hermione sat next to him, apparently unaware of her near nudity, which was a pity Harry thought, since she was quite fit, truly. He decided he should look somewhere other than her tits, since he had to start forgetting what they looked like now, as well as forgetting that he had ever seen them at all.

“There is a theory that the only way to stop a Zerophiliac from changing gender every time they orgasm is to actually experience sex with another Zerophiliac,” Hermione said. “Dana did say it would only happen with her, didn’t she?”

Another Zerophiliac— oh bloody hell, that had to be exactly what had happened. Harry nodded slowly. “And Dana was a bloke after we finished up today,” he admitted. “So Dana couldn’t stop being a girl without my help. And now she’s going to be a bloke until I see her again.”

Hermione rubbed his hand soothingly. “And you’re going to be a girl. But at least now you know that once you’re back to rights, you won’t change unexpectedly. All you have to do is have Dana get you off once, and you’ll be all set. You can forget this whole mess ever happened.”

Right. Forget. Harry didn’t think it was going to be that easy.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco spent the entire day in the office on Friday, then again on Saturday, trying to catch up on the paperwork which had been dropped in his inbox while he was out. He wore a sling for his arm, and used a Quick Quotes Quill for writing on Friday, whenever anyone was about to watch him, but on Saturday he was quite alone and was able to work far faster without having to pretend he was injured. He assured Roberton, of course, that he would be perfectly well on Monday and in the office properly.

He also heard rumors floating down from the DMLE, that Hermione had owled in on Harry’s behalf, and that the young Auror was bedridden with the Parmician Flu. Draco pressed his lips together at that, appearing irked he supposed, but in truth, he had been trying not  to laugh. From the stories told, Hermione had created quite the fascinating illness for Harry, and no one had any desire to go anywhere near him.

Except, of course, that Roberton made it absolutely clear that Harry Potter’s signature was required on several papers for the Siccorax case that were due in court on Monday morning. So of course, Roberton told Draco, he’d be expected to obtain that signature. And if Draco were to come up with purple spots on Monday, he might be excused from work, as long as those papers were left on Roberton’s desk.

Draco was relatively certain he wouldn’t have purple spots, nor a voice that alternated between croaking like a frog and squeaking like a mouse, nor any of the other creative symptoms Hermione had created. However, he had a feeling he might well end up injured in truth if Harry had figured out what was going on.

Still, after having gone so many days off work without notice, he was on probation (again) and the signature was required, and so, he stood outside Harry’s flat and rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles. He rather hoped Hermione would answer, and he’d just hand her the papers and leave. Weasley answering could create all manner of difficulties. And to be honest, Draco didn’t know what would happen if Harry herself opened that door.

In a way, he hoped it was Harry. Merlin help him, Draco rather wanted to see him again.

The door pulled open and Hermione stood there. It took a moment for Draco to shift from hope, through disappointment, and then into his characteristic pompous sneer. He held out the folder, bright little magical arrows hovering nearby, pointing out the places to sign. “If you could possibly convince Potter that despite her illness, we need her signature on these papers, I would appreciate it. The case goes before the bench on Monday morning.”

Hermione blinked at him, eyes wide and then narrowing consideringly. “Malfoy, did you just—”

Did he just what? Draco rewound through what he’d said. Lips pursed. “What is it, Granger? Take the bloody folder and get Potter to sign the papers. I’ve better things to do than stand on your doorstep all day.”

“Come in.” Hermione pulled the door open, making no move to take the folder. Draco had no choice but to step inside the flat.

His back was stiff, and when she gestured to the sofa, he sat with back ramrod straight, the folder in his lap. His gaze darted to the door off the living room, then down the hallway where he could see two more doors, and the opening into a kitchen. He wondered, for a moment, which one hid Harry, then he forced that thought from his mind. Holding out the folder, he arched one eyebrow. “Will you take it now, or do you intend to force me to have tea and biscuits first?”

Hermione closed the door securely, then settled on the sofa next to Draco. “No, we’re going to talk. You know Harry isn’t ill, don’t you?”

A small cold knot started in the pit of Draco’s belly. He snorted, then sneered. “Of course. Anyone with half a brain could see that the illness was entirely fabricated. You were trading on the fact that no one would dare question Hermione Granger, saviour of our world and trainee healer, in order to allow Potter to skive off a few days of work.”

Her smile was far gentler than he expected, her touch on his arm almost as if it were meant to be comforting. “That’s not what I meant, Draco. Harry’s not ill, although he couldn’t possibly go into work, either. And you know, because you saw him just a few days ago, when he was perfectly well.”

The knot bloomed, chilling him from head to toe. “Hardly,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “I am not social with Potter, nor do I have any idea what you’re talking about.”

She patted his hand. “I’m a healer, Draco. You can trust me. Harry already has.”

When had she started to call him Draco? Was this her attempt to put him at ease? It wasn’t working, his body even more tense than before. He shoved the folder into Hermione’s lap and stood, smoothing his robes. “Just give that to Potter. It can be owled in, as long as it’s received before Monday morning.” He turned, robes snapping about his ankles, and he would have left if not for Hermione grabbing his hand.

“You said you wanted her signature.”

Hermione’s words echoed quietly in his mind, one word standing out above all. Had Draco said that? Had he actually still been thinking of Harry as a woman when he stood in that hall? Impossible. He had better control than that.

“I ought to’ve known,” Hermione mused. “Harry described you as tiny and fey, rather delicate. And the hair and eyes ought to’ve been a giveaway. But I’d never tried to imagine you as a woman, Draco, and it certainly didn’t occur to me that you’d end up shagging Harry. But now it all makes perfect sense.”

Draco turned back to look at her, fighting to keep his expression remote.

“What makes perfect sense?” he asked, tone far too quiet to bode anything good.

She simply smiled in response. “You’re Dana.”

And there it as, dropped baldly between them, and Draco couldn’t deny it. “If you breathe a word of this to _anyone_ …”

“I won’t,” she said. “After all, trying to explain about you would mean explaining about Harry, and I wouldn’t do that to him. But I must admit, if there were going to be a million and one chance of two Zerophiliacs being born in one year, it would have to be you two, wouldn’t it? This is truly remarkable. And nearly impossible.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Draco said dryly. “I have known what I am since I was fourteen, and have researched the topic extensively. I never expected to meet another.”

The way Hermione stood and circled him then, staring as if he were a fascinating specimen, unnerved Draco. “Stop,” he said, voice tight.

“I should like to spend more time talking to you, when you have the chance,” she said. “In a purely clinical fashion. I would be honored if you might consider letting me write a paper about you. It would be kept entirely anonymous.”

“No.” At her disappointed expression, Draco pursed his lips. “Perhaps. I shall consider it. But now, if you wouldn’t mind, I do need to have these papers signed. If you could possibly consider giving them to Potter so that I might leave?”

Hermione laughed. “No. You aren’t leaving here until Harry’s put back to rights,” she said firmly, giving him a bit of a shove down the hall. “First door on the left, there, and he was sleeping last I saw. I don’t care if it leaves your balls blue, you will make sure that he changes gender and you will leave him as male. He needs his job.”

“As do I,” Draco pointed out. “Potter is far more likely to be able to suffer through missing a week or two of work than I am, being as he _is_ the Golden Boy of the wizarding world.”

Nothing changed in the set of Hermione’s jaw, and her shove was even harder. Draco couldn’t help but remember that she also had a terribly strong right hook, and that he didn’t wish to experience it again.

“Go. Fix what you broke,” she ordered.

Draco took the few steps down the hall and stood there, for a long moment, outside Harry’s door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before he nudged the door open and stepped inside.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry had heard the front door, and the low rumble of voices, but it didn’t encourage him to get out of bed. Nothing much had encouraged him to get out, especially when Ron was in the flat. It didn’t sound like Ron, but still, anyone other than Hermione was too much for him to deal with, so he pulled the pillow over his head and tried to shut the sound out.

There was a faint click, then the soft screech of his hinges.

Harry rolled over quickly, sitting up, eyes widening when he saw Draco standing there in formal robes, a folder clutched in one hand. He reached for his wand as Draco shut the door behind him, and by the time the lock clicked into place, Harry had the wand aimed for Draco’s chest.

“Don’t think I won’t use it,” Harry threatened, tone just as strong in female form, despite being a bit higher.

Draco set the folder on the dresser, and spread his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. Hermione insisted, so if you’ve a problem with this, I suggest you take it up with her.”

Harry watched warily as Draco approached. When the other man sat on the bed, the tip of Harry’s wand touched his chest, just over the heart. Draco looked down at it, then met Harry’s eyes, and Harry felt his cheeks flush.

“It seems you’re making up for something,” Draco drawled, one corner of his mouth twisting up in wry amusement. “But you can set that aside. Give us five minutes here, and we’ll get you sorted and you won’t have to make do with a wand in your hand anymore.”

Harry could swear he felt the heat of Draco’s hand through the blankets, right down into his calf where it rested. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Draco touched one finger to Harry’s lips. “Don’t ask. Just lie back, close your eyes, and don’t tempt me to blindfold you and tie your hands to the bedframe.”

Those words warmed Harry from tip to toe, reminding him of other times and other nights and— no. It was impossible. And yet… Harry watched Draco pull the blankets down, leaving Harry sprawled on the bed in a pair of lacy knickers, an old Falcon’s t-shirt that was too big for this body, and nothing else.

“Close your eyes,” Draco said again, running his fingers up the inside of Harry’s thigh.

Harry did. Breath shuddering in the sudden flush of arousal, he let his head fall back and tried not to think about the fact that Draco fucking Malfoy was sitting on the edge of his bed, carefully worming one finger between soft silk and suddenly wet swollen lips. That finger swept along the length of Harry’s slit, and he had to grip the sheets tightly, crying out as his hips lifted to meet the touch.

“And I thought you were responsive as a boy,” Draco murmured.

The bed shifted as Draco stretched out between Harry’s legs, letting them fall over his shoulders. Draco’s hands under his bum lifted him, and Harry let his legs fall to the sides, opening him to Draco. Hot breath warmed his skin, and he felt Draco nuzzling against the wet silk.

“God…” Harry couldn’t find words.

“Not God,” Draco whispered. He tugged sharply, tearing the fragile scrap of knickers, and baring Harry so that Draco’s tongue could sweep over his folds. “But if you want to scream his name, that’s fine with me. I can’t mind the comparison.”

Harry’s laugh was hoarse, throat feeling raw already. In just a few moments, Draco already had him squirming under his tongue and fingers, halfway to the peak and wanting desperately to get there. And there was something familiar about how he was doing it, the pattern and the way he touched him and _oh FUCK!_ “Dana!” Harry reached down, fingers tangling in Draco’s hair as his hips bucked and he cried out again.

The hair was shorter, but still had the same fine texture and soft feel. With his eyes closed, Harry could imagine that it was her, with two fingers deep inside of him, stroking as she nibbled on his clit.  He felt the prickling of his skin start, and his fingers tightened. “I’m—”

Draco pulled away and Harry’s eyes flew open as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “You are _not—_ ” Harry sputtered. “ _We_ are not—”

Draco wiped Harry’s juices off of his mouth with the back of his hand. One corner of his mouth twisted up into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “No,” he said flatly. “We are not. Your virginity remains yours, not that it will mean anything as you will be male again shortly. I just thought that as this is your last time as a woman, you might want it to be as good as it can possible be.”

Harry shoved his fringe out of his face, huffing out a small indignant breath. “Oh, and you’re the one who decides exactly how to make it that brilliant, are you?”

“Being as it is the only participation I have in the event?” Draco quirked one eyebrow. “Yes. I am.”

Hmph. Harry supposed there was some twisted sort of logic in that, even if he didn’t entirely follow it. “You’ve got me at your mercy,” he pointed out. “You could force me to let you fuck me in order to get back to myself. Why don’t you?”

“Two reasons.” Draco raised a hand, and Harry saw the faded lines of the Dark Mark there, half hidden beneath the sleeves of his robes. “One: you don’t want me to, and I have never had need to take an unwilling woman. And two: I intend to walk out of this room male as well. Once we are done, we are _done_. There will be no need to meet again.”

Harry couldn’t resist, taking Draco’s arm and pushing the sleeve up further so he could see the Mark. “Why doesn’t Dana—”

Lips pressed thin, Draco’s smile held no humour. “Because Dana didn’t take the Mark, I did, and magic’s odd that way.”

“I still have my scar,” Harry pointed out, lifting his fringe to show it.

“Hm.” Draco ran the pad of his thumb lightly over the lightning bolt, and Harry shivered under the touch. “Interesting,” Draco mused. “I would have expected otherwise. Perhaps it is because the scar is a part of your very essence, whereas the Mark was burned into who I was when I first took it. As I said, magic can be odd about some things.”

It answered the question, but it brought up others as well. Harry didn’t release Draco’s left arm, instead making himself more comfortable, sitting crosslegged as she looked at it closely, fingers tracing the design that meant such horrible things. “Why did you take it?”

Draco pulled his arm sharply away. “Do you want to get off, Harry, and regain your prick, or do you wish to go into work as a woman on Monday?”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

A soft snort, as Draco advised, “I shouldn’t let Granger hear you say you’d thought being a woman would be terrible. I’m quite certain she’d never let you hear the end of it. The question remains, however: do I finish you off, or do I walk out of here? The getting to know you questions are done.”

It didn’t stop Harry from wanting to understand. Perhaps he’d grown past where they were as boys, or perhaps it was the sex making him want to know more about this partner he’d had. But he’d spent so much time hating the man, Harry had a hard time reconciling Draco with the woman he’d started to fall for.

One last time.

Harry laid back, head on the pillow, and tugged his shirt up to bare his breasts. He teased his nipples to hardness, arching into the touch. And he couldn’t help the small smile as he heard Draco hiss softly while watching. He tried to pretend he didn’t notice, keeping his eyes closed as he bent his legs and let his knees fall to the sides, opening himself.

He was surprised when Draco stretched out next to him, the warmth of his mouth closing over Harry’s tit, sucking more of it in, then letting it slip out until only the nipple remained in his teeth. Just hard enough to feel good, and Harry moaned under the touch.

Draco’s fingers slid over Harry’s hip, two sliding into him where he was still slick and hot, thumb stroking his clitoris. Harry slid back into the pleasure so quickly it seemed that he’d never left it, Draco’s touch playing him with deft skill. A seeker’s hands, gentle and sure and warm and so far inside of him even though Harry wanted more. He wondered, for a moment, what it _would_ be like it Draco fucked him, and half regretted saying no.

But he imagined it, extrapolating what he thought Draco must look like nude from what he knew of Dana. He imagined Draco stretching out over him, settling between his legs and sliding his prick in deep. The feeling of his skin shifting started again, and Harry cried out, thrusting up, so close that he knew it was only moments before he went over.

He gathered in breath, but before he could cry out again, Draco’s mouth covered his and swallowed the scream. He felt the ridge of Draco’s length pressing against his thigh, and he pressed back as his hips jerked roughly, and the world shattered.

It came back slowly, with Draco’s hand still moving in slow, slick motion over his hard cock, Draco’s mouth on his. As Harry sighed, Draco drew back.

“I think it would best if I go now.” Draco rose stiffly, shifting, and Harry suspected that he was quite uncomfortable under the robes. 

Harry was still warm and flushed and wished he had Dana here. Or perhaps Draco himself under him—with an idle hand, Harry stroked his prick, feeling the light behind his eyes.

“Don’t.” A hand covered his, and moved it away from his prick. Draco shook his head. “Don’t. If you get yourself off now, while still aroused by me, and still thinking of me, you’ll change again. And I know you don’t want that.”

“Who says I’m thinking of you?”

As a retort it was weak, and Harry just shrugged at the look Draco tossed over his shoulder. But Harry listened, instead pulling the blankets up over his waist and trying not to think about the texture of them against his hardness.

Once Draco had left, Harry realized that the folder was still sitting on his bureau. He crawled out of bed and picked it up to read the attached note.

 _Signature needed. Please return before Monday morning. —D._

Same handwriting. Harry had a feeling he ought to’ve guessed before. Those fair features, the slender build. The bloody hair and eyes. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to see. But if he had any doubt, the note clinched it.

Draco and Dana were the same person.

And Harry honestly didn’t know what to do about that.


	10. Chapter 10

“Why the bloody hell was Malfoy in our flat?”

Harry paused just as he stepped out of his room, looking in confusion towards the living room. Ron hadn’t noticed him yet, ranting as he was to Hermione, but Harry winced anyway. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, on his way to the shower, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to manage to get there.

Footsteps as Hermione pushed past Ron to meet him, her hands on his shoulders. “Harry, are you all right?” she asked worriedly.

“Feeling much better now,” he assured her, as if the illness had been truth. And maybe it had, in a way, since he certainly hadn’t been feeling exactly like himself. He still wasn’t sure that he did now.

When Ron joined them in the narrow hall, it felt far too close for comfort with him looming the way he did. “Is anyone going to tell me why Malfoy was in Harry’s room?” he asked, almost growling. “Not to mention, what happened to the girl? Don’t you bloody well tell me that she came here because of something to do with Ferret-face.”

Harry bit back a laugh at that, the sound strangled in his throat. Did the girl have something to do with Draco? Most definitely, but Harry was far from ready to explain to Ron not only who the girl actually was, but also that Draco had just finger-fucked her out of existence so Harry could have his own body back. Best mate or no, he was fairly certain Ron wasn’t ready for that.

“She had to go,” Hermione said. “Left when Draco got here.”

Well, that was one way of putting it, Harry supposed. It was even almost true.

“He was dropping off paperwork from his office for me to sign,” Harry said, which was also true, although he segued into a lie after that. “I’ve got a court appearance Monday morning, for the Siccorax case.”

“Ah.” Ron nodded sagely, apparently accepting that at face value. His gaze narrowed for a minute, and he frowned at Harry’s bare chest. “Why’re you wearing a towel?”

“I’ve been in bed ill, Ron, and I’ve just realized that I’m feeling better. I bloody well need a shower before you both tell me I stink.” Harry pushed past the two of them, nudging open the door to the bath. “If you both don’t mind?”

There wasn’t a word as he closed the door. He twisted on the water quickly and stepped in, leaving the towel behind. There were times when Harry didn’t mind the tiny hot water heater the flat had, fine with getting in and out in the few minutes it took to soap up, scrub shampoo into his hair, and rinse off. But today he just wanted to stand under the stream of hot water and feel it scald his skin away, and he wasn’t going to have that luxury.

Because that was it. It had been their last time, nothing else to happen, nothing else owed. He and Draco would go their separate ways, both locked into the bodies they were born with and never changing again. It was a good thing, really. He could have a relationship without wondering what the girl would think if he suddenly changed gender mid-shag. But the ridiculous thing was, he could close his eyes and see Draco’s pale head between his legs, and it was getting him hard all over again.

It was an impossible situation.

It was Draco fucking Malfoy.

With a groan, Harry tipped his head back, letting the water splash into his face, making him close his eyes against the onslaught. He stood there until he felt the first cold drops that signaled the end of the hot water, then he twisted the handle and dried off.

Hermione was waiting for him when he opened the door. “Ron’s gone out again.”

“Do I get to get dressed before we have this conversation?” Harry asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, crossing to his room and pulling the door shut with a thunk behind him, leaving her in the hall.

“I’ve had my fingers up your twat, you prat, I don’t think seeing your prick is going to change our friendship now!” Hermione called out. The words were muffled thanks to the privacy charm, and that made Harry suddenly thankful that no one outside the room should’ve heard the groans and grunts from just a bit ago.

“Doesn’t matter,” he yelled back, yanking on his pants, then a pair of jeans before he opened the door. “I’ll be keeping all my bits under cover where they belong around the flat from now on.”

“Even if Draco comes over again?” Hermione asked. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

Harry gave her a dark look. “You don’t have to worry about what we’re going to tell Ron; it’s not happening again. We’re both back to normal, and we’re not seeing each other again.”

“Right.” Hermione didn’t say anything else, so Harry went on a hunt for a shirt, ignoring her. When the silence grew too long, she burst out, “You don’t have a court date, Harry. Draco said you’re supposed to owl the papers back, not bring them in. You’re stalking him.”

“Just because I lied to Ron doesn’t mean I’m stalking Draco,” Harry muttered. “There’s no point to it. He’s not Dana. They might live in the same body, sort of, but they aren’t the same person at all.”

Hermione was quiet for long enough that Harry looked at her to find her expression gentle and sympathetic. “Maybe Dana’s the real one,” she said quietly. “He didn’t have to pretend anything, or live up to anything while he was her, just like why you go out to the Muggle clubs. Both of you know something about being stuck as who everyone else sees.”

“What’s got you so fired up about him being a good bloke now, ‘Mione?” Harry muttered.

“I’m not.” Hermione came close and hugged him hard. “But I love _you_ , Harry, and you’ve been happier since meeting Dana than I’ve seen in a while. If it turns out that Draco Malfoy happens to be what it takes to make you happy, then I’m willing to give him a chance.”

Harry’s gaze dropped. Well, that was all well and good for her. Harry still wasn’t sure what to do with it all.

 

#

 

“I’d expected you to be happier than this, darling. Is that your third glass of firewhiskey?” Pansy lifted the glass, peering at the few drops left in the bottom. Her eyes widened slightly when Draco snatched it back from her.

“It’ll be my fourth, if you’ll please pour me one more.” He gestured at the bottle. “I find it to taste more mellow as the night wears on. Quite a pleasant burn.” And it dulled the thoughts in his head which refused to make sense, not to mention washing away the taste of Potter’s juices on his tongue. Perhaps if he drank enough, he wouldn’t hear the way Potter cried out, those soft little sounds she made when she gasped, and maybe he wouldn’t feel the press of her legs against his head.

Then again, maybe not. “Bloody fucking hell,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“Was she really that good?” Pansy settled across his lap, one hand resting on her abdomen as she made herself comfortable. “Oh, I see she was. Or he was. Which was it, darling? Are you falling for Potter, or if I go out and bring back a lovely girl for you, will you manage to get him out of your head?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Pansy framed his face and kissed his forehead. “Of course you don’t, darling. But would I let you down by allowing you to wallow in such unpleasantness? I should like to see you happy.”

He glared at her, grey eyes stormy and dark. “Come back in a week or two then, Pansy. I’m not interested in a bloody pep talk. I should like to drink myself into oblivion then wake up to a hangover potion and immerse myself in work.”

“It’s not that easy,” she said quietly.

“To get oneself thoroughly pissed? I disagree.” Draco poured his own fourth glass, since Pansy had refused, taking a long gulp and swallowing the burn.

“To fall out of love.”

A long silence while Draco swallowed down the rest of the glass and resolutely poured his fifth. “I’m not in love.”

“You’ve never drunk over anyone before,” Pansy pointed out. “Male or female. Not even that bloke that Dana met every night for three weeks last year.”

Draco looked at her, sitting there across his lap, belly rounded with the child of his closest friend other than Pansy herself. “Did you not hear? I thought I spoke clearly,” he said dryly. “I do not want to talk about it. I have the rest of this bottle of firewhiskey to get through, and I’m quite certain it shan’t drink itself.”

Her lips pursed into an unpretty bow of irritation. “Fine. But I expect a proper apology when you’ve managed to yank your head out of your arse and come around to admitting what the problem is. And I won’t even think about helping you without proper incentive. Do try not to kill yourself with that drink.”

She pushed herself to standing, wobbling slightly on her feet before finding her balance. Her attempt to stalk from the flat was hindered by the distinctive waddle she had started to do to accommodate her pregnancy, but it didn’t matter. Draco ignored the rap of her shoes on the floor, and the sharp slap of the door against the frame as it slammed on her way out. After all, he still had quite a bit left to drink, and he didn’t have quite all night to do it in.


	11. Chapter 11

The folder was on Draco’s desk when he arrived Monday morning, Harry’s signature on each page where it was required, as much of a scrawl as it ever was. The loops and scratches in the letters were a counterpoint to Draco’s own neat and precise lettering, and he sat there for a long moment comparing the two. He could find similarities, yes, but the differences, once noted, were stark and bright. Much like themselves, Draco decided. Both Zerophiliacs, both alienated in many ways from the world they belonged to. But too different for continued interaction.

He closed the folder and brought it down to Roberton. From that moment on, the week belonged to the Siccorax trial.

It was an intense case, the first time Draco had brought the evidence together, making the case that Roberton would present. He hoped it was the beginning of trust, that soon he would be allowed to move from being merely an apprentice to having his own few clients. Allowed to try his own cases. Some day they had to admit that he was not the boy he had been.

Yet as the week wore on, Draco realized, this wasn’t the week. Roberton never acknowledged him, other than to send him on one errand or another, or to have him deal with the jurors when they were sequestered. The trial became Draco’s life, and he saw nothing other than the courthouse for days as it lingered on.

There were moments when he thought he saw familiar faces watching the proceedings. Blaise and Pansy at one point, but not for long. Granger, watching him with a sort of speculation, and Weasley staring at him as if there were something important he needed to figure out. And Harry. Draco was positive that his tired mind made that one up; he saw that face far too often for it to be real. Although Harry could have a reason to be there. It was his evidence that had been collected, after all, and Harry who stood to gain when Siccorax went behind bars. So it was merely an interest in his own reputation, of course.

When the trial finally ended late Friday, with a guilty verdict laid down and Siccorax screaming as he was remanded to Azkaban, Draco slumped tiredly at the table. Roberton instructed him to gather the files together and bring them back to the office, ensuring all paperwork was properly signed and filed before finishing for the day. As Roberton left, Draco’s gaze scanned the courtroom, half expecting to see Harry there speaking to people about his victory in nabbing such a notorious criminal. But no, only a few stragglers still leaving, and a bailiff watching Draco with a scowl, waiting for him to pack up and get out of there.

Back stiff, expression carrying more pride than a simple apprentice shoulder, Draco packed the files away. With a tap of his wand, he shrank the box down, then carried it out, ignoring the dark look the bailiff gave him for being the last to leave.

It had been a long week, and was going to be longer yet, before all of this was filed. Lips pursed in a sour expression, he made his way back to his office. When the owl flew at him as he approached the door, he waved it off, not wanting to know what Roberton wanted _now_.  The owl persisted, and irritated, Draco finally took the message it carried.

 _Meet me after you’re done with the trial. You know where. H._

Draco flipped the note over and wrote one word: _busy_. He then reattached the note and sent the owl off, assuming it would get to Harry just fine without directions. He left the door to his office open so he wouldn’t feel entirely claustrophobic and started sorting through the papers. He made meticulous stacks, breaking down the files into smaller groupings so that he could get them settled away. If he were lucky, this might only take until midnight. If it went as he expected, he would sleep on the small sofa and continue in the morning. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The owl landed atop the largest stack, pecking at his hand. Draco muttered at it and read the new note.

 _Take a break. He works you too hard._

“Some of us actually have to work for a living,” Draco grumbled. He crumpled the note up and tossed it in the bin, waving at the owl until he flew off. He didn’t have time for this.

The strong scent of curry reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, and perhaps he ought to order in. Whatever the bloke down the hall was having smelled good enough. Draco glanced up, intending to call out, and stopped when he saw Harry in his doorway, a plastic bag full of takeaway cartons in one hand.

“I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet,” Harry said, although he didn’t move from the door.

“Haven’t had the chance.” Draco’s words were soft and clipped. “What part of _no_ did you not understand, Potter?”

Harry stepped in and pushed the door closed behind him. “Are we back to last names, then?” he asked, setting the bag down on a corner of Draco’s desk that wasn’t covered in papers. “I’d thought that since I’ve had my tongue on your clit—that I even know you have one sometimes—we might be on a first name basis.”

“You listen as well as a new puppy,” Draco muttered, going back to sorting the papers. “You don’t listen when I say no to meeting you. And you obviously didn’t listen when I said we were done.”

“You didn’t say no,” Harry pointed out. “You said you were busy.” He smiled halfway. “I thought you could use some dinner, and some help. Looks like it’s just filing. I ought to be able to do that.”

“You don’t know my system.” Draco was well aware that he was putting off talking about the real reason Harry was there, but Harry couldn’t expect that things had truly changed, could he? “And no, I’m not going to teach it to you.”

Harry circled the desk, walking closer to Draco. “You liked being Dana, didn’t you?” Harry asked. “You liked being able to go out and having no one know who you were, just like I liked going to Muggle bars. You liked being treated like a person, not like Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater, traitor to the wizarding world.”

“So?” Draco arched one eyebrow as Harry came close enough that their noses nearly touched. Draco held a folder, almost like a shield between them, and Harry put his fingertips on it, pushing it down.

“So. You’re going to teach me your system.” 

Draco watched Harry’s hand slide over his arm, up to his shoulder. He stiffened as Harry touched the shell of his ear, fighting against the way it felt.

“And we’re both going to change, and we’re going to go out.”

Draco should have been prepared for Harry to close that final distance, to feel lips against his, to feel the hand that curled against the nape of his neck, holding him securely. And still, it caught him by surprise, Harry capturing a soft gasp of sound before Draco managed to set the file down to free his hands, and grip Harry’s shoulders.

He’d been an idiot to say it was done. It wasn’t done. Draco wasn’t sure it could ever be done.

#

He hadn’t been hexed yet. Harry counted that as a victory, possibly even moreso than the way Draco relaxed against him, giving in to the kiss. He hadn’t really thought past this moment. He’d half expected to be ducking and running away from hexes at this point, trying not to be turned into a newt, or worse. Instead, Harry kissed Draco again, letting his tongue slip between pliant lips so he could taste the moan on Draco’s tongue.

Going out didn’t sound like such a brilliant idea anymore. Staying in sounded far better.

Harry drew back slowly, letting both hands frame Draco’s face as he looked at him. “I missed you,” he admitted. “Well, I missed Dana, but it took a week of Hermione trying to beat it into my brain to realize she was right: you’re Dana. Or Dana’s you. Maybe more you than you are.”

Grey eyes blinked at him. “You’re not making sense, Potter,” Draco pointed out, although his tone was nowhere near as sharp as it had been.

“Harry,” he correctly gently. He smiled when Draco tested out the name, liking the sound of it in this voice as much as he’d liked it on Dana’s lips. “And I’m making perfect sense, if you’ll just listen.”

Harry let his hands slide down to Draco’s bum, gripping him as he leaned in, pushing him back until he bumped into the desk. It pushed them hip to hip as Draco’s hands fell back to brace himself against the smooth, wood surface. “Listen,” Harry repeated, nipping at Draco’s earlobe. “When you change to Dana, you let go of everything else,” Harry murmured. “You let go of your father’s expectations. The Mark fades.” He nipped at Draco’s throat, murmuring in response to the moan that gained him. “No one cares that you’re a Malfoy, or what happened in the war. You’re able to be who you might have been if you hadn’t been raised in the midst of everything else.” He slid his tongue across the top of Draco’s collarbone, tasting sweat and something stronger than Dana. “She’s not separate, Draco.” He traced a path to his throat, sucking gently at the soft skin in the hollow there. “She’s you. And I fell in love with you.”

Draco didn’t say a word in reply, and Harry tried not to worry about his silence, continuing quietly. “And you’re the one who decided to shag me. And who kept coming back and stayed as Dana so I wouldn’t run. Right?”

“You’ve thought a lot about this,” Draco muttered.

Harry nudged him with his hip, feeling the hard ridge of Draco’s reaction. “Yeah, I have, Draco. Hermione said something that got through to me, even if it took a day or three of not seeing you to let it really sink in. I was happy when I was with Dana.” He pulled back to look at Draco, searching for some reaction. “When we didn’t have ourselves standing between us, we really got on, Draco. I’m willing to trust you’ve changed.”

A small smirk quirked the corners of Draco’s mouth. “Merlin knows you’ve changed,” he said dryly.

Harry started to smile in return. “You too,” he pointed out. “Several times. Might do it a bit more tonight.” He picked at the buttons of Draco’s shirt, glad the robes had already gone by the wayside earlier. “There’re some things we haven’t done after all.”

Draco’s fingers curled over the edge of the table. “Such as?”

Harry let his crotch rest against Draco’s leg as he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of Draco’s trousers. His fingertips skimmed across the skin of the hard cock he could just barely feel from this angle. “All sorts of things. You need to fuck me. Both ways. I need to suck you off at some point, although I think I’d rather you use this on me at the moment. And I’m sure we can come up with more combinations if we try.”

Draco’s hand came to rest against Harry’s cheek, fingers lightly brushing his skin. “And what makes you think I’m open to such experimentation.”

“You haven’t run screaming after I said I love you.”

He was silent then. So silent that Harry thought he’d pushed him too far, those grey eyes wide, skin flushed with arousal, lips full and pink. Harry could see the shadow of Dana in Draco’s appearance, and wondered how he had ever possibly missed the truth of who she was. He twitched his fingers, reminding Draco of where they were, and what they were in the middle of. “Well?”

They reversed so quickly it made Harry cry out, Draco pushing him back against the table, fingers pulling at the fly to his trousers, almost anxious to get them off. When Harry caught at his hands, Draco looked at him and said quite seriously, “You get to be the one to figure out what to tell your sodding arse of a Weasel roommate. I don’t fancy being hexed the next time I come about.”

With a laugh, Harry reached up, pulling Draco in for a kiss. “I’ll find a way to make him understand. Just don’t be surprised when he says hello to your breasts. Ron has a thing for them: breasts, I mean. Couldn’t quite stop staring at mine.”

A soft growl as Draco nipped at his neck. “He can’t bloody well get anywhere near yours,” he muttered. “You’re mine.”

And with that, Harry relaxed. His hands skimmed over Draco’s back as his hips pressed up, feeling how they rubbed together. He could already feel the prickles over his skin, calling the change out, he was that aroused. But that didn’t matter. Bodies didn’t matter anymore, not between him and Draco. They could take their time and explore. “I’m not going anywhere,” Harry murmured to reassure him. “Not going anywhere at all.”


End file.
